Scandalous
by Lukeprism
Summary: When a man sets fire to a successful engineer's house, all of London is engulfed in the paranoia and fear of witchcraft. Is this mystery one that only the humble Professor Layton and his apprentice can solve? AU, set in the 1800s. Indefinite hiatus.
1. A Bit of a Prologue

_**A/N: Well hello, hello, hello! Welcome to my third Professor Layton fanfiction. It may be a bit different than others you've read. You see, this fic is set in the late 1800's (like 1880 or so). I'll be trying to keep it as true to this as possible, but please bear with me when I inevitably make stupid mistakes. Also, I'll be trying to fit in as many characters as possible, so they may be in completely random spots... sorry about that, too. Okay then, now that that's out of the way, let's begin!**_

_**I do not claim to own the Professor Layton franchise in any way, shape, or form.**_

—**s—t—a—r—t—f**—**i**—**c—t—i —o—n—**

A middle-aged man leaned back into a worn wooden chair, inhaling the aroma of freshly baked biscuits and warm gravy with a hint of tea thrown in. He wore an orange button up shirt and brown slacks, with a trench coat of matching color hanging on the back of his chair. On top of his head sat a large brown top hat, something that he never, ever went anywhere without, and it hid all except the hair on the back of his head, which was also—you guessed it—brown. His face was rather plain, but the man looked content with his eyes closed and his hands intertwined across his lap. This man went by the name of Professor Hershel Layton.

Layton wasn't a man of considerable wealth, just a professor of history and nothing more, and he lived in a small, two-story building that he rented by the month. He was in this building right now, sitting at the kitchen table and waiting for his breakfast to cool down a little bit. The entirety of the room was either brown or a dull gray color, and it was a fairly large kitchen. A gas stove sat in the back corner with a small, currently open window above it, and wooden cabinets lined the two walls connecting to it. The sink and ice box were located on the other wall, currently being used.

A small, older lady in her early fifties was cleaning up the mess she had made fixing the morning meal. She had long, wavy brown hair tied back and covered with a white headscarf. Finished up with the dishes, she dried her hands on the white apron that covered her olive-green dress. She hummed a little tune while she stacked the clean dishes in a particular cabinet, smiling and showing off her dimples. This was Layton's maid, good friend, and neighbor, Mrs. Rosa Grims.

There sat a small boy at the other end of the table Layton was situated at, no more aged than twelve or thirteen years old. He donned a long-sleeved white shirt covered by a periwinkle buttoned vest and dull blue trousers a bit darker in color. His thick brown hair was topped by a small blue cap, matching his vest nicely. He currently stared at the food in front of him hungrily, the smell of it all making his mouth water. This boy was Luke Triton.

Yes, Triton. Luke was not Layton's son. Luke's father, Clark Triton, had been good friends with Layton during their childhood and had kept in contact for a long time. When Luke's mother died a little over four years ago, Clark had to obtain another job on top of his labor at the downtown textile factory just to support the both of them. That being so, he didn't really have the money to hire someone to look after Luke at the time, so the professor offered to do so once. Layton found that the boy was curious and highly intelligent, able to solve many of the puzzles he gave him for fun. He'd had such a good time of it that he often took care of Luke after that, the latter having taken a peculiar liking to the professor as well. After a while, the two became near inseparable, and a couple of years back, Luke had dubbed himself Layton's apprentice.

At last, the boy could take the temptation no longer. Sleeves carefully pulled up, knife and fork in hand, Luke went at his biscuits and gravy ravenously, slicing a piece off the first biscuit and stuffing it into his mouth. Unfortunately, it was still pretty hot, and his tongue seared with pain as the gravy-covered chunk hit it, causing him to yelp. He put the utensils down as fast as possible and reached for his glass of milk and took a few cooling gulps. He _haaah'd _as he took it away from his mouth, dabbing at it with his napkin to get rid of his milk mustache.

Layton shook his head at him, trying to replace his amused smile with a reprimanding frown and failing miserably. "It would be best if you gave your food time to cool off, Luke," he suggested, his voice mellow and deep.

The aforementioned boy looked a little sheepish. "Sorry, Professor," he said, his voice high and squeaky and his accent morphing 'professor' into 'professah''. "I'm just so hungry, an' these biscuits stay hot _forever_," he whined, slumping over with his head in his hand and staring at said biscuits forlornly.

Rosa walked past him then, patting his back softly along the way. "That's how you know they're quality, lad," she giggled with her slightly gravelly voice, walking toward the front door. "I'm going to get the day's paper, Professor," she called behind her, a small shining coin in hand.

The professor nodded. "Alright," was his response, taking a small sip of tea. Mmm, Rosa had brewed chamomile today.

It was quiet for a minute. Well, as quiet as it could get in the morning. One could hear voices of vendors and passerby as they headed to work and sold things when the window was open for fresh air, bustling about early. There was also the rattle and clacking of the horses and their carriages, heard whether the window was open or not. Noisy? Maybe. But living in London, you got used to it fairly quickly, and both Layton and Luke had lived there their whole lives.

A thought struck the younger of the two. "Professor, don't you have to tutor the Duke's daughter today?"

Layton sat forward, picking up his own fork and knife. "An excellent question. Actually, Duke Reinhold has suggested that we hold off the lessons for a time, as Lady Flora has come down with a rather severe sickness," he said, cutting part of the biscuit in front of him off and blowing on it, the important step Luke had skipped, before placing it in his mouth and chewing appreciatively.

Deeming it okay to try and eat again since the professor had started to as well, Luke busied himself with the cutting. "Oh. That's a shame," he replied before taking a carefully blown on bite. Thankfully, it did not scald his tongue this time.

The front door squeaked as Rosa came back inside, holding a newspaper in her hands. She entered the kitchen, her usual tranquil smile noticeably absent from her wrinkled face. Both males noticed and knew immediately that something wasn't right. "Look at this," she said simply, her voice a little shaky.

She handed the paper to Layton, who took it with a quick "Thank you," and scanned the big, bold black headline quickly. Luke rose from his spot at the table and darted behind the professor, reading it as fast as he could. They both looked relieved and puzzled at the same time.

"Eyewitness claims that house fire was the work of witchcraft," Luke read aloud, scratching his head. "Witchcraft? There's no such thing," he stated, moving on to read the rest of the article. Rosa said nothing, instead just staring at the big black-and-white photo of a large, elaborate home in flames with a dark look.

Layton finished his skimming. "Well, nothing is impossible," he said, adjusting his hat a bit. "But I sincerely doubt that anything supernatural went on last night."

Rosa shivered slightly, holding her sides as if to try and comfort herself. You see, Rosa's father had believed in and practiced sorcery. Though he never successfully performed any of the things he tried, at least in front of her, the man craved knowledge and power. No matter how hard she and her mother tried to convince him to stop, he wouldn't, and pursued what he called the Devil's Will, power that would allow him to right the in-his-opinion-corrupted government by force. After one night, the night his preparations were finally completed and he attempted the ritual to summon such power, Rosa and her mother had left, sensing danger was to come if they stayed. The next day, when they returned, they found his body just lying there on the ground in the middle of his chalk pentacle, dead as a doornail. Ever since, she'd always been very sensitive on the topic of witchcraft.

"I don't know what's out there, Professor," she started, her tone grim, "but I know it's there, and I know it's malevolent."

The professor merely hmm'd in response, deep in thought himself.

Luke scoffed. "Rosa, that sounds like something out of a children's ghost storybook," he said, returning to his chair and beginning to eat once again. "The paper says the only people there to see it were a couple of homeless drunks, anyway."

Layton returned from his pensive mode. "Luke has a point, Rosa," he agreed, setting the paper down as he took a swig of his tea. "It is possible that this may be some type of sorcery, but I sincerely doubt it. There's simply no concrete evidence or trustworthy eyewitness testimony to support such a notion, and you know how much this city likes to gossip."

The maid sighed and shook her head, returning to her cleaning of the rest of the home. "You never know," was all she said, departing for the living room.

Luke watched her go. "Huh. I'd have never thought Rosa to be the superstitious type," he noted once the woman was out of earshot.

Layton was back to reading the paper, a continuation of the front page's story. "She had a rather traumatic experience when she was younger," he said, his eyes moving back and forth rapidly.

Luke gulped down the last of his milk to wash down his now-finished biscuits. "Oh." He wiped his mouth with his napkin once again before getting up and placing his plate and glass in the sink. "But there's something I don't understand, Professor," he said, returning to the table. "Why that specific house? You don't just randomly burn down houses as a criminal... Do you?"

Layton chuckled, lowering the paper so he could see the boy's face. "Who knows, my boy? The mind is a strange thing," he said cryptically, with a smile. "But I'm certain this was no accident. You see, this was the home of Dimitri Allen, the famous engineer."

Luke still looked confused. "What does that have to do with it?" he asked.

"I'm getting to that," he continued, looking back at the paper as a reference. "It says here that the two eyewitnesses claimed the perpetrator identified himself as Don Paolo. That was also the alias of another engineer who was suspected to have worked with Allen on his very successful project, the one that made him so wealthy. Unfortunately for him, he was denied all rights, Allen taking it all for himself."

Luke was silent for a moment. "A grudge, then. That would explain it," he said, chin resting on his hand as he leaned forward in his chair. "But that still doesn't make it right to burn down a man's house while he's still in it. Did anyone make it out?"

Layton folded the paper closed once more, sighing. "Sadly, no. He and his wife, Claire Allen, their sole son and all seven of their maids perished."

They both lapsed into silence, Luke's face now sorrowful. The professor finished off his plate of food before getting up and setting it in the sink, on top of Luke's. He finished his tea standing up, grabbing his brown coat from the back of his chair and pushing it in. "It really is a pity. Now then, Luke, shall we make our way to the university's library? There are a few books I need to reference for some research I'm working on."

Luke's expression brightened instantly. Whenever they went to the library, the professor allowed Luke to borrow a book of his own choice as well. Along with their shared hobby of puzzles, Luke also loved to read almost as much as the older man did. "Of course, Professor!" he exclaimed, jumping up and pushing his chair in in a hurry. Layton just chuckled as they exited the premises, pulling his brown coat on and Luke adjusting the strap on the worn satchel he took with him everywhere.

After he closed the door behind him, they walked northward, soon blending in with the bustling townspeople altogether.

_-asdfjkl;-_

A couple of days later, Luke and Layton were strolling back to the professor's abode from Luke's home, rather early in the morning. Layton always went to pick him up before breakfast so he could actually have something cooked for him (he honestly doubted the boy's cooking skill) since his father had to leave in the wee hours of the morning to make it to his first job. They were chatting about nothing in particular, enjoying the early morning air and the calmness about the streets, for there were few people out and about before seven o'clock.

"Excuse me, Professor," a voice came from behind them. They both turned around, wondering who it could be.

The boy behind them was tall, almost as tall as Layton, looking sixteen or seventeen years old, He looked a lot like Luke, same-shaped face and messy brown hair topped by a gray paperboy hat. He wore a slightly tattered brown vest over a darker gray long-sleeve shirt and dirty black slacks that were a few inches too short for his long legs. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, full to the brim with newspapers. It was the paperboy who frequented their part of the city, Clive Dove. He was the Layton household's regular visitor, never missing a single day.

"Good morning, Clive," the professor greeted him with a tip of his hat.

Clive did the same. He might not have looked like it, but he was quite a polite person. "G'mornin'," he replied, reaching into his bag and pulling out a newspaper and handing it to Layton. "Sorry if I was interruptin' anything, but I thought you might want to have a look at this," he said, motioning to the paper's bold headline. "Remember that other paper, a couple of days ago?"

Layton held it down slightly so Luke could read it too. The professor's brows furrowed as Luke read it aloud. "'Local bank victim of the flames of witchcraft.' Oh, more of this witchcraft stuff, ay?" the boy sighed and shook his head, not even bothering to read the rest of the article. "I can't believe people actually think it's true."

Clive smiled down at Luke. "So you don't believe in witches an' wizards, d'ya?"

Luke puffed out his chest. "Of _course_ not. All of it is rubbish, silly stuff that only children should believe," he stated, nose up high in the air as if he was ashamed he was even talking about it at all.

Layton flipped the paper open to read the rest of the article. "Well, it seems that this time there are more reliable witness testimonies. Apparently, this Don Paolo robbed the bank before he set it on fire, and a few constables arrived on the scene just in time to see him 'shoot fire from his bare palms' and ignite the entire building."

Luke's eyes widened. "The Scotland Yard, too? Heavens alive, what has the world come to?" he gasped. "They of all people should know the difference between folklore and reality!"

Clive grinned, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth. "You'd think so, eh? It's blasphemy, that's what it is. I'd wager five pounds that the Paolo guy bribed them somehow, probably with the money he stole," he said darkly, folding his arms across his chest.

Layton lowered the paper, he himself looking thoughtful. "It's certainly possible," he agreed, folding it back to the front page, a photo of the bank not too far away from Layton's home on the front, engulfed in flames. "But if it was some kind of sorcery..." he trailed off, gazing at the gray-scale picture intently.

Luke turned to face the older man, his stare incredulous. "Professor!" he cried, quite shocked at his mentor. "Don't tell me you're starting to _believe_ all this nonsense!"

Layton met his self-proclaimed apprentice's gaze. "There's always an answer out there, Luke," he said, his tone serious. "But that answer may not always be the logical one. One must have an open mind, but not to such an extent as to believe everything you read in a newspaper."

Clive nodded. "Truer words have never been spoken, Professor," he said, tipping his hat again. "But just between you an' me, I like to think it's a fraud. Now then, I'll be seeing you two around," he adjusted the strap on his shoulder before waving to them, beginning to walk the way he'd came from.

Layton held the paper back out to the teen. "Here, Clive. Terribly sorry, but I don't have any money on me at the moment, else wise I'd buy it," he said apologetically.

Clive waved it off dismissively. "Don't worry about it. It's on me today," he called back to them, already a few meters away. Luke yelled a goodbye to him as well before the duo turned back around and resumed their journey back to Layton's place. The sun had risen a bit, and there were a few more people out now, but other than that everything was the same as before.

After a few moments, Layton inhaled deeply. "Well, there's at least some good news," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What's that?" Luke asked, not bothering to look at the man.

"There weren't any fatalities this time around."

"Oh. Brilliant."

Layton looked down at the paper he held in his hand again, the gears and cogs in his brain turning. "Hmm."

Luke looked up at him. "What is it?"

The professor hesitated a moment before shaking his head. "Oh, nothing."

Luke's eyes narrowed. "Professor, I _know_ that hmm. That's the hmm you hmm whenever you come up with an idea or a plan," he pointed out. "C'mon then, you can tell me about it!"

Layton laughed, a merry, hearty sound that resonated from deep within his throat. "I'm sure I haven't the foggiest idea of what you're going on about," he chuckled, watching amusedly as the boy walking beside him puffed his cheeks out and looked away childishly, grumbling hypocritically about how he was old enough to know these things.

But inside his head, Layton knew Luke had him figured out better than anyone else. He had indeed come up with a plan, but it wasn't as much a plan as it was an idea, merely to visit the scene of the fire and see if there was any additional information or clues as to this whole witchcraft claim and it's authenticity. The professor was always one for a good puzzle, and his inquisitive side's interest had been piqued. Though this case lacked much evidence and was more than most likely fraud, his usually entirely logical couldn't help but wonder. He put one hand in his trench coat's pocket, the other arm holding the newspaper diligently as he looked to the sky, looking forward to the progression of this mystery.

Little did he know, though, that this might be one of the most dangerous villains he would ever have the pleasure of crossing paths with.

—**e—n—d—c**—**h**—**a**—**p**—**t**—**e**—**r**—

_**A/N: Mhmm. This chapter was mainly expository, so you can kind of get the feel of their lives as well as somewhat of a backstory. Sorry it's so short, next chapter will be longer!**_

_**Reviews are much appreciated! Until next time~**_


	2. Puzzle Solved?

_**DISCLAIMER**__**: So, Professor Layton. Didn't own. Don't own. Never will own.**_

—**s—t—a—r—t—c**—**h****—a****—p—t —e—r—**

"Professor, I don't think this is a good idea."

Layton looked up from the book he was reading whilst Luke was helping Rosa gather and clean the dishes from that morning's breakfast of eggs and sausage. It had been Rosa who'd spoken, her voice unusually monotone. Layton marked his place in the tome and closed it, giving the maid his full attention. "Whatever do you mean?"

She didn't look at him. "I know what's out there, Professor. I've seen what the Devil's power can do to a man. It isn't something that people should go around tampering with, least of all you." She turned to face him. Luke paused his drying of the plate he was holding to stare at her outlandishly. "If you go to that bank today, it will bring nothing but trouble, you can count on it."

Layton said nothing in reply. Luke's eyes traveled from Rosa to the professor and back, slightly unnerved by the near-palpable tension in the air. He finally turned away to continue drying the dishes, setting the plate down and reaching for a glass. The older two stayed in their stare-down mode for a second more before Rosa sighed.

"I know you're only curious," she said, turning back to the sink with sponge in hand. "I just don't fancy the idea of you two getting hurt."

At this, Layton chuckled. "My dear Rosa," he said, his fingers tapping on his book lightly. "The worry is appreciated, to be sure, but superfluous. The scene of the crime is perhaps the safest place to be, for what villain strikes in the same place twice?" he reasoned, trying to quell her arguably baseless fear.

She shook her head, scrubbing the dirty dishes a little more forcefully than normal. "It's not that I'm worried over," she corrected, grabbing the bar of soap on the sink's edge to revitalize her sponge's cleaning capabilities. "If you go there, you won't be able to just leave the case alone. You'll be sucked into all this mess, and I've a terrible feeling something otherworldly is at work here."

Luke, who had been doing his best to keep his mouth shut, couldn't do it anymore. "I don't know about you, but I don't want a pyromaniac—or wizard, whichever tickles your fancy—roaming around the streets of London," the boy said, balancing a plate on top of a rather tall stack of them. "What if he burns down Parliament? Someone has to stop him before something like that happens!"

Rosa looked at him with a weary smile. "Child, that's what the Scotland Yard is there for."

"Yes, well, the Professor's helped them out with other cases too! He could do the job better than three fourths of the inspectors out there."

Layton wasn't really listening to the two anymore, instead letting his mind wander as they debated amongst themselves. He knew that Rosa was right; if he went down to the bank today, there would be no way he could leave the case alone. It was an intriguing concept, on top of the fact that this Don Paolo needed to be caught as soon as possible, before anymore needless destruction could happen. He just couldn't help himself.

His whole life, everything had always had a reason behind it. A solid, rudimentary reason. If it rains, the ground gets wet. If the ground gets wet, plants will continue to grow. Thus, if it rains, the plants will continue to grow. This was simple, basic logic, Layton's ultimate weapon. Everything happened for a reason, and could be understood and proven time and time again accordingly_. Everything_.

That being said, the existence of anything like witchcraft would not be possible. Or would it? He'd never read a thing in any history book of his that suggested factual existence of such a concept. But what if it was? What if it really did exist, an unexplainable and certainly unscientific power? Would anything ever make sense the way it had before again? Would it falsify logic as everyone knew it forever? What if logic was just a ruse, a fraudulent claim that so-called brilliant men before him had just pulled out of thin air to explain random natural phenomena? The very thought was unfathomable to Layton.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of the wooden cabinet closing, Rosa having just put all the dishes away. She and Luke had apparently come to a consensus of some sort, for neither of them was currently talking anymore. The man shook his head almost indiscernibly. Either way, he wanted to see for himself whether any of this was true or not.

The professor stood up, the chair squealing as it ground against the floor backwards. Luke looked up at him and smiled brightly; he knew exactly where they were going now. The boy walked over to his usual chair to pick up the brown bag he'd left on said chair and sling it over his shoulder while Layton made his way to the living room so he could put his book back in the bookshelf. Rosa, who was heading up stairs, presumably to dust by the feathery duster in her hand, said nothing. She knew where they were going just as well.

Layton looked back a final time before exiting his home, Luke trailing behind him like a diligent little puppy. The two began their course toward the bank, walking to the east along the side of the road. It wasn't going to be that long of a walk, only maybe ten minutes, but nevertheless Luke reached into his bag and pulled out a slightly worn-looking thick book and a pen, flipping to a page he had dog-eared to keep his place.

"Luke, be careful," Layton warned, seeing numerous bumps and ledges in the path that could trip the boy up if he didn't pay attention. "The road has a lot of obstacles that you may not notice if you're distracted."

Luke was only half-listening, reading the page he was on intently. "Oh, Professor, don't worry about me," he reassured, not taking his eyes off the book. "Don't you know, I'm great at multitasking!"

Not five minutes later did the boy stumble, nearly losing his balance altogether and falling face first into a pile of horse dung. The boy coughed, his face red from embarrassment as he put both the book and pen back in his sack. Layton chuckled. "Now that would've been a rather nasty fall."

Luke pulled his hat down, partially covering his eyes. "Yes, well, I was on the verge of solving a puzzle I'd been thinking about all day, but that lousy ledge made me lose it," he frowned, crossing his arms.

"Oh dear, now that is a shame. What puzzle?"

Luke cleared his throat. "It goes like this: Three is five is four is magic. Why is the number three the number five? Why is the number five the number four? Why is the number four magic?" he scratched his head, frowning. "I don't understand. How can three be five? It makes no sense!"

Layton admittedly had to think for a few moments before the answer came to him. He laughed heartily. "Maybe you're just going about it the wrong way," he suggested playfully, holding his index finger in the air.

Luke didn't look enlightened, but seeing as how Layton had already puzzled out the answer, he took on a determined stare and started to scribble things down in his book. After a minute, Layton peeked at it to check his progress, only to find Luke struggling with complex-looking formulas that even Layton didn't recognize.

"Professor, this is not working," he whined, erasing everything furiously.

Again the professor laughed. "You're just looking at the numerical value of the numbers, Luke," he commented. "Maybe that's not what you're supposed to do; think _deeper_."

And so Luke tried again. He scribbled a three, a five, and a four on the paper and stared at them for a moment. "Three is five is four is magic..." he thought aloud, his pen touching his chin in intense thought. "Three is five is four... Three is five... Wait a minute."

He suddenly scribbled three words on the paper: three, five, and four, all next to each other. He then put equals signs between three and five and five and four. From there, it only took him a second. "Oh, of _course_. Three is five because there are five letters in the word three, five is four because there are four letters in the word five, and four is magic because there are four letters in the word four!" he exclaimed, triumphant.

Layton nodded. "Yes, that's exactly it. Excellent deduction, dear boy," he praised, looking back in front of them. "And not a minute too soon, either; it appears we're nearly there."

Luke looked up. About thirty meters away from them stood what remained of the bank, its charred frame looking especially decrepit and dreary. There were a few carriages that sat to the side and a load of law officials near the building, some investigating and some talking about something to one another. One man stood out from the rest, not wearing the traditional constable's uniform. The professor and his young ward made their way toward this man, who was amongst those who conversed in a small crowd.

The man looked up when he heard them approach. He had short, dark hair hanging lightly down to the middle of his forehead and a small rectangle-like mustache of the same color. He wore a black coat buttoned up to his neck, where one could see the collar of an undershirt along with matching pants and thick brown boots on his feet. His expression didn't look surprised to see him. In fact, it looked more like he'd been expecting the man to show up. His head dipped slightly in recognition, a gesture which Layton promptly returned with the tip of his hat. This man was one of the more important people in the Scotland Yard, Inspector Chelmey.

Chelmey and Layton had been acquaintances for some time now. A few years back, one of the professor's students was suspected of committing the murder of a former lover after the two forcefully split up. The authorities, namely Chelmey himself, informed him of this, and he did begin to notice said student exhibiting strange behavior like flinching when spoken to or constantly having a guilty look in his eyes. He was eventually able to convince the student to confess to his crimes for a slightly modified sentence (from a death penalty to forty years behind bars) and ever since then Layton has been a welcome asset to the Yard with their more... puzzling cases. Luke had even come along once, the professor having unknowingly taken him to a play masterminded by the playwright Jean Descole to kidnap the then-Prince Henry II (who loved plays with every fiber of his being) for a fine sum of ransom money. The boy noticed the ground beneath his seat looked funny, telling one of the prince's servants who passed the message on, and Henry was moved two seats to the right, resulting in the kidnapping of one of his couriers instead. Descole had been arrested for treason.

"G'morning, Inspector!" Luke chirped, in a jolly mood; the boy loved a good crime novel, and visiting the scene of a real crime was like taking a small child to the park and gifting them with a huge lollipop.

"Good morning, Inspector," Layton repeated his pseudo-apprentice's words a little more formally.

"'Ello, Layton," Chelmey answered, pausing his conversation with the rest of the officers. "I 'ope you weren't looking to make a deposit this mornin'."

"Oh, no, Inspector," Layton replied, smiling faintly at the other man's humor. "I was merely reading the day's paper and I couldn't help but notice our friend Don Paolo has struck again. I take it the inspection is going well...?" he trailed off, his eyes wandering over to the half-a-dozen constables spread across the scene, observing their surroundings carefully.

"If you've read the paper, then y'know just about as much as we do," Chelmey sighed, glancing back at the group of men huddled and talking behind them. "The men that were 'ere, they all say they've seen him shoot the very fires of Hell right out o' his 'ands. It's downright madness, I tell you!" he threw his hand into the air helplessly. "We're still trying t' calm them down, and we haven't found a shred o' evidence suggestin' 'e rigged the place before'and. I'm at a loss, Layton."

Layton _hmm'd_, taking the information in, not surprised at the lack of solid evidence. "Well, the day is still young, Inspector," he said after a minute, folding his arms across his chest and adopting a confident smile. "I'm sure you'll make sense of this case yet."

Chelmey sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I 'ope you're right."

Behind them, coming from the ruined building, two men approached. One of them was noticeably short, only an inch or two taller than Luke. What little hair you could see from under his long blue hat was a deep shade of brown. His eyes were small and beady on his plump little face, and his garb was that of every other constable present, the whole blue uniform nice and wrinkle-free. His big, fuzzy brown mustache covered his mouth, making his expression ambiguous. This was Inspector Chelmey's right-hand man, Barton.

The man behind Barton was of average height, at least if you didn't factor in his abnormally big, puffy black hairdo. He wore an outfit similar to Chelmey's, with the exception of black boots on his feet. His chest was abnormally large, making him stand out, presumably as an athlete or an extremely fit guy. This man was another of the Scotland Yard's finest, Inspector Grosky. Both men were also Layton's acquaintances.

"Good day, Mr. Layton," Grosky greeted as they came in close. "And hello, little Luke! I hope the day finds you two well," he said before turning to Chelmey, a serious expression not at all foreign on his face. "Alright; I have good news and I have bad news. Which would you like to hear first?"

Chelmey rolled his eyes. "I don't bloody care, Grosky_, just get on wit' it_!" he growled, his patience obviously wearing thin.

Grosky nodded. "Right. I suppose I'll start with the good first, then." He cleared his throat. "The good news is, we've finished our search of the establishment," he said, almost proudly.

Chelmey sighed. "And?"

Grosky paused for a moment before deciding to continue. "Well, the bad news is that we didn't exactly find anything useful," he went on, folding his arms across his burly chest.

Chelmey nearly facepalmed. "Oh, well isn't that just the _'ighlight_ of my day," he said, his tone dark. "Without evidence, how do we convince the city that none of this rubbish is believable? Or better yet, how do we even know that for _ourselves?_"

Barton adjusted his hat, thinking it best to cut in here. "We still haven't been able to bring those who's minds are mislead back to their senses yet, sir," he informed, his voice squeaky.

"Ah, yes," Grosky agreed. "They stand by what they say, unwilling to listen to reason." He shook his head. "Those of the Scotland Yard, too... Depressing to think that our subordinates are so tempted by these tales of sorcery and magic."

Chelmey sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Aye, that it be. It's almost as if they've been brainwashed, or had a spell cast upon them, ey?"

Grosky tutted. "Now now, Inspector Chelmey, not you too!"

Layton had been listening intently the entire time, and found this to be a good place to step in. He cleared his throat, and all four of them, Luke included, looked at him. He smiled. "Excuse me, Inspectors," he began, being as polite as ever. "Would it be any trouble if I were to conduct a search of my own along the premises?" he asked, fully aware that such a question asked by anyone else would have been completely futile.

Chelmey threw his hands up in the air for the second time. "Do what y'like! Who knows, mayhap you'll have better luck than this lot," he said, shaking his head.

Tipping his hat in thanks, Layton made his way toward the burnt building before Inspector Grosky could pout at Chelmey some more, Luke following closely behind him. Nearly all of the officers there a few minutes ago had regrouped near the two inspectors, leaving the scene free to be examined.

Stepping over a pile of debris, they both took a panoramic look around the area. All one could see was burnt pieces and piles of wood and ash here and there, with most of the core structure of the building intact but severely charred. The ceiling had fallen in during the course of the fire, making it difficult to find a path to walk into what once was a building on. It all still smelled distinctly of smoke, and Luke had to stifle a coughing fit. Looking at it all, one would never have guessed that this mess was supposedly the work of witchcraft; it just looked like any old accidental fire gone severely wrong.

"I don't see anything, Professor," Luke said, looking back at Layton after surveying the area. They were slowly walking deeper into the place, over the piles of burnt wood. "It looks like any other fire, doesn't it?"

As much as he'd been hoping to find something (call it a curiosity for all things illogical) that suggested anything out of the ordinary, he could see nor feel nothing denoting a supernatural force at work here. "Indeed," he replied, never taking his eyes off his surroundings.

Things went on like this for some time, professor and apprentice wandering around and staring at this and that, examining different rooms and even digging in piles of rubble ("Luke, stop that. Even when looking for clues, a true gentleman doesn't get dirty."), looking for traces of abnormality. After nearly forty minutes they'd scoured the entirety of the area and mutually decided to cease their hunt. While their search had been fruitless, Layton couldn't help but feel like he'd missed something.

On the way back to Chelmey to report his findings, or lack thereof, he noticed that most of the other officers had left the scene, leaving only the two inspectors and Barton plus a few other nameless constables on duty. Suddenly a thought struck Layton, and he was very eager to be on his way.

Chelmey noticed them first, beckoning them over with a wave of hand. "Find anything useful, Layton?" he asked when they came within ten feet of them. Grosky and Barton turned toward the duo expectantly as well.

Layton tipped his hat in apology. "I'm afraid I wasn't able to find anything either, Inspector," he said. Grosky and Barton's faces fell, but Chelmey looked unsurprised and only grunted in response.

"Hmph. When even the great Layton can't find any evidence, you know that it's a bad day," he sighed, wiping his forehead, which had gathered a small pool of perspiration, on his sleeve. "Well, that's just peachy."

Layton _hmm'd_ in response, having nothing to say in reply. After a few silent moments of standing there, Layton decided to take his leave. "My thanks for the opportunity, Inspector, but we really should be going," he said, folding his arms across his chest. Luke shot a forlorn glance at him, as if to say 'awh, professor, so soon?', but said nothing.

Chelmey grunted in reply. "Yes, yes."

Grosky offered a bit more of a goodbye. "Take care then, Mr. Layton," he said, and Barton gave him a little salute.

As the professor tipped his hat in return, he couldn't help but ask one final question, directed at Inspector Chelmey. "If I were to need to find you later today, Inspector, you would be at the Yard, correct?"

Chelmey raised an eyebrow; he knew Layton well enough to know that this wasn't just an innocent question. The man had a plan. "Yes, I suppose I would be," he answered, after which asking a question of his own. "What are you up to, Layton?"

The professor smiled, holding an index finger up and pointed toward the sky. "Just going to take a walk around the city, Inspector," he replied, turning around to walk back the direction they'd initially come from. Luke looked a little confused, but followed obediently.

Chelmey shook his head while Grosky chuckled. "Alright, Layton, but mark my words; if you find anything useful, you 'ad better bring it back to me post'aste!" he almost growled, and Luke could imagine the man shaking his fist behind their backs.

"Oh, of course, Inspector," the professor replied as they headed off.

Luke turned around for a moment, waving a hand in the air. "G'bye, Inspector Grosky!" he called. The boy liked Grosky the best of the trio, though they'd only met a few previous times.

Grosky waved back at him. "Take care, lad!" he responded. As Luke turned back toward his front, the burly man chuckled. "What do you think he's up to?"

Chelmey stroked his chin rather thoughtfully. "Knowing Layton, probably out t' get answers. Whatever it is, I'll bet you we'll have some kind o' contact from him by the end o' the day, you can count on it."

Meanwhile, Layton and Luke rounded the corner successfully. The professor had taken on a determined expression and walked with a spring in his step, much to Luke's curiosity. The boy looked up at his mentor with an eyebrow raised. "So, professor, where exactly are we going?" he asked, pretty sure it would have something to do with the Don Paolo case.

Layton smiled down at him. "I think you may be able to harbor a guess, my boy," he replied cryptically, his pace not slowing a bit and nearly requiring Luke to jog just to keep up with him.

Luke looks to the sky, thinking. "Okay, erm... His house?"

"Whose?"

"Don Paolo's, of course."

"Dear boy, if we knew where Don Paolo resided, then he'd probably have been caught by now, would he not?"

"...good point, professor."

About a dozen incorrect guesses later, they were a few blocks away from the charred bank and nearing a final corner. They were on the home stretch now. Luke frowned, sighing and crossing his arms in a huff. "Professor, I _don't know. Please_, just tell me! I'm going to die from the suspense!" he cried, his voice only half-sarcastic.

It was then that they turned the corner and their destination came into view. Layton chuckled at his young companion. "I don't think it's necessary to tell you now, is it?"

Luke's face conveyed his expressions clearly as they went from concentration to confusion and finally over to realization. "Oh, _of course_, the site of the first fire!" he exclaimed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He pouted. "Why didn't I think of that...?"

Layton laughed. "No need to fret, Luke. Now then, I believe a split search of the place is in order?" he suggested with a smile.

Luke's face broke into a grin. "Absolutely!" he whole-heartedly agreed, following the professor closer to the charred remains of what was a very nice, big house located just outside the northern part of London, where those much better off lived. "But, professor, didn't the Scotland Yard already investigate over here?"

Layton winked. "Of course they did. However, a gentleman makes a habit of double-checking things," he said as they came upon what was left of the front door. The house had been, and still was, a three story house, but had been burned so badly that Layton felt uneasy about the prospect of going up there to look around. "Now, you take a look around this first floor and I'll see if I can find anything worth mentioning up these stairs," he told him as he approached said stairs.

Luke looked at the stairs doubtfully. "Alright, professor, but you be careful, okay?" he replied as he heedfully stepped forward, bright brown eyes already scanning the area.

Layton chuckled. "As you should be," he said as he took a first cautious step on the first step. Thankfully, it didn't make any noises or anything, and held his weight as well as any stair might. He tried the next, and it gave him the same result. He remained skeptical for the next several steps, but at step number twenty-four, just when he'd gotten more confident about it all, the step lurched and completely collapsed, taking the professor's foot down with it. He gave a rather ungentlemanly yell of surprise as most of his leg fell through the newly created hole, and as his body hit the remaining stairs hard, he was very relieved to find the others were stable enough to stay intact.

Luke gasped loudly from somewhere below him. Frantic footsteps followed, and stopped somewhere near him on the first floor. "My God―_Professor!_ Are you alright?" he cried, obviously distressed.

Layton chuckled breathlessly; all the air had been knocked out of him from the fall, but he wasn't injured in any way. "Yes, my boy, I'm fine. Just a bit of a slip up, as it were," he assured him, experimentally tying to move his trapped leg. It moved without much trouble, so after a few minutes, Layton had successfully removed his leg and descended the stairs twice as carefully as he'd come up them before. He adjusted his hat when he reached the bottom rather sheepishly. "Perhaps it would be best to stick with the bottom floor for now."

So that's what they did. Well, that's what Luke did, anyway. While the boy continued his search of the house, Layton decided that he would search the area around it, on the outside of the home. He walked out of the interior and looked at the front of the house. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

He strolled around the perimeter of the building, looking at everything from the windowsills to the way the bricks had been laid all the way to the foundation around the house. Nothing escaped his attention, but at the same time he couldn't find anything worthy of mentioning. He had at least been expecting something trivial, like a book of matches accidentally left behind or a random pile of wood laying somewhere next to the house, but nothing of the sort could be found. Perhaps the professor had underestimated this Don Paolo, thinking him to be less intelligent than he actually was.

Around at the back of the house, Layton's hopes were brought up by a strange-looking hunk of metal lying next to the house rather suspiciously. Could it have been some kind of brand new contraption, tailor-made by Don Paolo to set the house on fire? After that, all it would take is some cheap trick like a firework to make one think that he'd shot fire out of his hands. However, upon closer inspection, it was only a metal bucket that had been warped by the heat of the blaze. Well, there went that conclusion.

On the last side of the house he looked at, he was pretty convinced that there really wasn't anything here suggesting a premeditated attempt at setting a fire. Even still, that didn't stop him from looking. And it was a good thing, too, for if he had stopped looking he may not have found a crucial clue: a big, clear glass jar cleverly concealed by a shrub that had miraculously evaded the fire somehow. It looked empty and pretty innocent, but then again, if it was so innocent, why would it be so smartly hidden like that? This prompted a closer assessment.

As he approached, he crouched over and gently reached in and pulled the jar out from under the shrub. The first thing he noticed was the top, which was reminiscent of a wine bottle's opening, was completely open, probably missing a cork of some sort. Like someone had left it there hastily, not thinking about it too much? Looking inside, he could see a very small amount of a clear, water-like liquid remaining inside on the bottom, though he seriously doubted that it was water. He brought the container close to his face and wafted air from the opening to his nose in an attempt to smell it. It smelled faintly gasoline-like, which immediately set the metaphorical alarms in Layton's head off. _Kerosene._

That would explain some things. Layton stood up, holding the bottle carefully with his left hand and adjusting his hat with the right. Briefly he wondered whether the inspectors had already found this, but knowing Chelmey and his subordinates, they probably hadn't. He'd probably be happy with something concrete to base his theory off of, a theory more believable than witchcraft, anyway. He made his way back to the front of the house, where he'd reconvene with Luke.

Luckily, Luke was already in the front, looking around for the professor. He regarded the jar in his mentor's hand with curiosity. "What's that you've got there, Professor?" The boy asked as they met up, Layton barely stopping before he was on his way again, away from the house and toward the street from whence they'd come. "I didn't find anything in there, but I guess you did, seeing as how you're in such a hurry to leave. What is it?"

Layton didn't directly answer. "I think it may shed some light on the mystery of this Don Paolo's methods. Either way, Inspector Chelmey is in for a visit."

-asdfjkl;-

Chelmey stared at the bottle on his desk with an evil smirk. "Oi, I see what y've been doing 'ere, Paolo," he muttered, and one could see the gears turning in his head, mapping out all the possible ways that it could have been used in Don Paolo's schemes. "Puttin' on a lovely show wit' all your fancy engineer's tricks and foolin' my men..."

Layton just smiled, not bothering to point out the absence of such a reagent at the most recent fire. Even if he had, the grouchy inspector would point out it could just have been Don Paolo being more cautious than before, and it was admittedly an plausible, if not acceptable, theory.

Grosky, who was also in the room, chuckled at his peer's behavior. "Do you suppose this'll quell the public's frenzy over all this witchcraft nonsense?" he wondered aloud, with his arms crossed and his expression triumphant.

Chelmey pushed his chair back from his desk with a sharp _EEEEK_ sound. "O' course it will. Anyone with 'alf a brain could see that this is most definitely just arson with some kind of clever illusion as the medium," he assured, standing up and putting his hands in his pockets. "You made a good decision, bringin' this t' us, Layton," he grunted, nodding his head at the professor. "Y've done your part as a loyal citizen of London."

Layton chuckled and tipped his hat to the inspector in return. Luke, who stood next to the professor as he usually did, just gave Chelmey a rather disapproving look. "It was my pleasure. A true gentleman doesn't hesitate to help out in any way he can, after all," he replied with one of those trademark modest smiles.

Grosky saluted the brown-clad man. "And a true gentleman you are indeed, sir."

Layton laughed, the jolly sound that seemed to affect everyone around him in a positive way. "I suppose so. Anyway, Luke and I must be off. We have a few more errands to run yet," he said, tipping his hat yet again.

Grosky nodded. "Of course. Have a wonderful day then, Mr. Layton. You too, young Luke!" he dismissed them with a wide smile.

"Same to you, Inspector Grosky!" Luke returned the goodbye with one of his own as the duo walked out of the office and out into the main corridor. Chelmey barely took the time to grunt his thanks before Layton shut the door behind them. The boy then immediately took on a frown. "That man is unbelievable. Here you are, bringing them a vital piece of evidence out of the goodness of your heart, an' he isn't even polite enough to say a simple _thank_ _you?_"

Layton chuckled. "There's no need to be so hostile toward him on my account, Luke," he reprimanded lightly as they exited the building altogether, walking down the street and weaving through the steady mass of people out and about at midday. "Inspector Chelmey is one of those people whose thanks is there, just unspoken."

Luke chewed on his cheek. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to say it once in a while," he huffed, looking at the various stands people manned, selling all sorts of trinkets and gizmos as well as foods of all sorts. The two stopped at a few of these stands, Layton haggling a few deals on ingredients he thought Rosa could put to good use and Luke finding a shiny black marble that he could add to his already-impressive collection. Once they'd finished their business and continued on their way back home to Layton's house, they both carried two bags each filled to the brim with groceries.

Luke was in a better mood, and he smiled up at his mentor. "So I guess that's another mystery's solved, ay, Professor?" he said, laughing at the fact afterwards with that adorable accent of his. "That Don Paolo man didn't even stand a chance, did he?"

Layton laughed himself, but at his young friend's innocence and naivety instead. He had a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach that this wouldn't be the last time they'd see the wrath of this Don Paolo and his unofficial witchcraft.

If only he had known how right he was.

—**e—n—d—c—h—a—p—t—e—r—**

_**A/N: Was it okay? There are a couple of things in this chapter I'm a bit unsure about, but what the heck? Let's post it anyway. **_

_**And about a flaw in Luke's character: I know he's definitely OOC about his fears of the supernatural. And I feel kind of bad for doing it. But, and you'll just have to trust me on this one, it's like that for a reason.**_

_**Reviews are like candy; I just eat them up, and they leave a good taste in my mouth! So please be kind and leave one. And until we meet again~**_


	3. The Third Fire

_**DISCLAIMER: I own absolutely nothing.**_

—**s—t—a—r—t—c**—**h**—**a**—**p—t —e—r—**

"G'morning, Professor!" Luke chirped, grinning at his older friend as he opened the door immediately after said professor had knocked on it. He was already all ready to go, with blue blazer and hat of matching color on his person. He even had his satchel with him. The boy had sure been expecting company.

Layton smiled at his young companion, always amused by his eagerness for such mundane a thing as coming to the professor's abode. "Good morning, dear boy," he greeted him in return, folding his arms across his chest as he glanced for a moment past the boy, into the apartment he and his father shared. It was rather plain-looking, but it was clean. "Ready to go?" he asked, though it was obviously rhetorical.

The short brunette bobbed his head happily. "Of course!" he replied, stepping across the threshold of his own home and shutting the door behind him, using the key he had in his hand to lock it tight before tucking it away in his pocket. "Shall we?"

The professor laughed. "Indeed."

And so the two walked. Luke lived in the lower half of London with his father, Clark, in the collectively poorer part of town. Well, slept there would probably be a better choice of words. Luke was almost always with the professor, keen on being with him when his father wasn't home (which was usually six days a week, if not the full seven). One might think that Layton didn't appreciate the idea of babysitting for free, but that wasn't the case at all. Luke was a very intelligent boy, always one for learning even at the weirdest of times. Layton had always liked children, and over the years he'd known Luke he'd developed a strong attachment to the boy, akin to the bond a father shared with his son. Plus, they both enjoyed puzzles. Of course they'd get along like champions.

They walked on amiably, enjoying the relative silence of the early morning streets. Hardly anyone was out and about just yet, a few scattered people here and a couple of homeless men there. It was almost eerie to they who were too used to the constant buzz of voices and click clacking of feet and hooves alike on the stone-paved roads, but the professor found it pleasant. He could hear himself think, for once, but he wasn't pondering anything in particular at the moment.

"So, Professor," Luke spoke up as they meandered down the lane, comfortably enjoying the early morning air. "Did you read yesterday's paper?"

Layton gripped his hat and smiled down at the blue-clad boy, an obvious indication of a positive answer. "But of course," he assured, holding a finger in the air. "A true gentleman always keeps himself up to date when it comes to the news."

"Right," Luke smiled back at him, rustling around in his bag to take something out. He shook out a newspaper, unfolding it so that one could see the headline: **Witchcraft a Fraud?** "So then you read that article that interviewed Inspector Chelmey? What did you think of it?"

The good professor turned his gaze back to his front, none too eager to make a false step and go careening down into the stones. "I thought it was very well-written. Wasn't it a lady journalist who wrote it? One doesn't see too many of those."

Luke puffed his cheeks out. "_Professor_," he said childishly, elongating the vowel sounds. "You know what I mean. D'you think the town will settle down after reading it?"

Layton laughed. "Now, Luke, a gentleman doesn't whine. I mean what I said; it was written well. The logic throughout the article was quite sound. Any literate person should be calmed by it." He paused for a moment as they crossed the street, nearing a huge bridge that separated the two halves of town from each other. "But there are going to be those people whom believe in such things as witchcraft that will stick to that theory no matter how much palpable evidence is shown to them."

Luke nodded his head. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Like Rosa, right? Most people are suckers for gossip and tall tales like this."

Layton merely gave him a small _hmm_ in reply.

The two began crossing the long bridge, known as the Tower Bridge to the locals. It crossed the river Thames, the murky waters below shining dully in the early morning light. The two ends of the bridge rose up high, giving it a very fine, grandiose kind of feel. It had only recently been finished, so there were quite a few people even this early in the morning just looking off the edges or buying things from the smartly-placed vendors on either side. Both professor and apprentice had to grasp their respective hats to keep the chilly breeze from catching the brims and lifting them off as they crossed the structure.

It was almost amusing, how much of a difference there was between the northern and southern sides of the city. The buildings instantly got bigger, the homes fancier, the streets somewhat cleaner. One could not blame Luke for preferring this side to the one he actually lived on. Crossing the first street they came to, the near-inseparable duo headed down the next few blocks, aiming to stop in at Layton's home so they could enjoy Rosa's fabulous cooking and the professor could get some things done before heading off to the university to teach that day's class.

As they rounded the corner that would take them to their destination, Luke collided with someone turning the opposite direction with a muffled _BUMPH_. Layton caught the boy just in time, preventing a fall on his backside, and the two simultaneously offered their condolences. "Dreadfully sorry..." Luke mumbled, not sure who exactly he'd rammed into.

The person they'd bumped into, however, merely laughed and shook his head like a good sport. "Oh, you two are fine," Clive dusted his front off before grinning at Luke forgivingly. "I wasn't payin' attention; was in too much of a hurry, trying to deliver all these papers!"

As Luke regained his own footing and beamed up at Clive in return, Layton smiled at him. "Is that so? Admirable work ethic, Clive, if a bit hazardous."

Clive's expression turned rather sheepish. "Of course. I promise not to run into anyone else today, alright?" he swore, raising a hand into the air jovially. "But speakin' of papers, I just dropped yours off with the lovely Rosa. Apologies. If I had known we were destined to bump into one another I'd have given it to you now."

Layton waved the sentiment off. "I don't expect you to see the future, my boy! Thank you very much for the sharp delivery," he spoke genially, tipping his hat to the young man.

Clive did the same with his blue paperboy's hat, beginning to walk past them. "Not a problem, Mr. Layton. See you tomorrow. And goodbye Luke!" he waved before disappearing around the bricks.

"Bye Clive!" Luke managed to send him off with before turning back to the professor. "I like Clive. He's real nice, Professor."

Layton nodded in agreement, having begun to proceed. "Yes, quite. He's a very intelligent young man as well, capable of great things, I'm sure. It's a shame he's not in school, refining that unused talent and making use of it..."

By the time they reached Layton's abode, the smells of eggs and bacon and freshly-baked bread were very much in the air. Luke was practically drooling as Layton unlocked the door. The professor was just as hungry, mind you, but a true gentleman always retains an air of formality.

When the door opened and Luke nearly ran inside despite Layton's urging not to, food was revealed to be already on the table: three plates with heaping amounts of egg and bacon with a loaf of bread each, complete with two glasses of orange juice and, of course, a cup of piping hot tea. Rosa, who sat at her place at the table with a napkin in one hand and fork in the other, giggled at their expressions. "Why, you two look as though you haven't eaten in weeks," she observed playfully, taking a placid sip of her juice.

Luke was by her side in a flash, hugging her enough to squeeze out any and all air. "Oh Rosa, you're like the mum I lost! Thank you so much for all the delicious food!" the boy cried, genuinely grateful.

Rosa looked startled for a moment, but relaxed when Luke let her go a few seconds later. "Oh, lad, you know it's not a problem," she assured, though Luke was already sitting at his place, cutting away at his eggs by the time she said it.

Layton just shook his head with a smile. "It certainly does smell delicious, Rosa. I thank you as well," he said graciously as he also sat down, rolling his brown sleeves up just a tad.

The woman shook her head. "It's more or less my job, Professor," she said with a smile as Luke began to ravenously stuff his mouth full of egg and bacon at the same time. She took another bite of her cooking, handing the man a stack of papers. "The newspaper. Clive just dropped it by not five minutes ago."

He laughed. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Rosa." Practiced fingers held the paper as he skimmed it, flipping through it like he was looking for something. A few moment later he returned to it's front. "Hmm. Looks like there's nothing of utmost importance today...it's rather quiet."

Rosa wiped her mouth with her napkin, smiling almost wearily. "And by utmost importance you mean witchcraft, no?"

This caused Luke to stop shoveling food into his mouth. He swallowed what he had and leaned forward a little. "What? So there's nothing in the papers about any other fires or anything?"

Layton shook his head. "Not at all. The cover story is about a burglary that happened over in Kensington Estates, but the man was captured and will be sentenced tomorrow." He took a sip of his tea, enjoying that sensation of warmth running down his throat and throughout his body. "Quite curious."

Luke laughed, looking pleased with himself. "Hahah! Well, you sure showed him, didn't you? That Paolo guy never even had a chance!"

Layton did not smile, instead turning his attention back to the paper pensively. It certainly did seem positive, the lack of an attack or fire, but Layton was almost certain that this would not be the end of Don Paolo's fiery schemes.

As he always is, Professor Layton was right.

_-asdfjkl;-_

"C'mon, Professor! _Please_?"

Layton couldn't help but smile at his self-proclaimed apprentice's whine, closing the book he had been reading and giving the boy his full attention. "Don't you always have a puzzle book with you, dear boy?"

Luke frowned, looking away for a moment. "I do...but I finished it last night, and I forgot to get a new one!" He turned his gaze back to the hatted man in front of him. "_Please_, Professor! Give me a puzzle, just to warm my brain up with!"

Rosa paused her dusting of the vases on a side table a little ways behind them, giggling at Luke good-naturedly. "Why, Professor, is Luke going to have withdrawals if he doesn't solve so many puzzles in a day?"

The blue-clad boy shot her a reproachful glance. "Rosa, it's not funny! Please, Professor?"

Layton gave him an almost exasperated sigh. "Yes, yes, of course," he relented, fingers intertwining with each other on top of his now-abandoned tome. "But only one. And no hints, understand?"

Luke nodded fervently. "Yes, sir!"

The professor leaned back into the chair. "Alright then, here goes: The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space; the beginning of every end, and the end of every place. What am I?"

Luke stared at the professor for a moment. "Could you repeat that, please?"

So Layton did. Luke became pensive, searching the entirety of his brain for something that fit that description. Watching the boy puzzle things out was rather amusing, what with the way he looked so serious and determined, staring down at his hands and thinking furiously. The riddle had to be repeated quite a few more times before Luke finally became frustrated.

"I don't _know_, Professor," the boy said honestly, stumped. "That's too cryptic."

Layton tapped his forehead, smiling. "I'm sure if this was a question in your book you wouldn't be having too much trouble with it," he vaguely hinted, though he had strictly forbid such help not ten minutes prior.

Luke raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

Layton shrugged nonchalantly. "Take it with a grain of salt."

Luke still looked confused, but he said no more, now puzzling over what the professor had just said. It wasn't until Layton reopened his book and began to read silently again did he understand. "Oh, I see! You're saying that if I could read it, it'd be easier," he deducted, immediately rifling through his bag to pull out a notebook and a pen. After writing out the riddle in neat enough handwriting, he read it over and over. It only took him a few minutes from there.

A sudden gasp of realization brought Layton's attention away from the text. "Oh, of course!" The brown-clad man glanced down at his pseudo-apprentice's notebook, which read as follows:

_The beginning of Eternity, the end of timE and spacE; the beginning of every End, and the end of every placE._

Luke was grinning despite himself. "It's the letter E, isn't it?"

Layton laughed heartily. "It is indeed! Well done, dear boy."

Luke laughed too. "An' now I feel awake and ready for the day!"

Rosa, who was now washing dishes, giggled along with them. "After you've been up for two hours, ay?"

"I'm telling you, it was because I didn't have any puzzles!"

At that moment, there were a few rapid knocks on the front door, signaling company. The professor stood up to answer while Luke stuffed his things back into his sack. "Anyway, Rosa, d'you want any help with the dishes? I could dry them."

Rosa gave the boy a heartfelt smile. "Thank you very much for the offer, deary, but I can do it."

The door could be heard opening. A few seconds later, one could hear the almost startled greeting; "Clive?"

Luke lit up. "It's Clive?" he stood up and power-walked to the door where his mentor stood chatting it up with the neighborhood paperboy. "Hello, Cli—" he started before cutting himself off with a gasp. The young man standing before them was indeed Clive, but he looked worse for wear, clothes noticeably frayed and tattered in places and a couple of burns on his arms and cheek. "C-Clive? What happened to you?"

Clive smiled down at Luke, wincing as the expression caused his burn to...burn. "Oh, nothin' much," he waved it off, turning back to Layton, who also looked incredulous. "Just got a bit held up. Sorry I'm late, Mr. Layton," he lamented, handing the man his paper.

Layton took the paper gingerly, glancing down at the paper's headline. He wasn't too surprised at what he found. "Clive," he began, holding the paper towards him and pointing toward said headline, "your injuries wouldn't happen to have anything to do with this, would they?" The boldly-printed headline consisted of four words: **Local Orphanage Set Ablaze.**

Clive's face fell. "Well, I..." he trailed off, gaze lowering slightly. "Yes, Mr, Layton."

Layton nodded, as if he had already known this. "I see. Do you think you could escort me to the site of this fire? That is, if you're all finished with your paper route."

Clive smiled a little. "I chose your house to deliver to last today. Yeah, I can take you," he agreed, closing the satchel of newspapers he still carried.

As the two began walking, Luke closed the door behind them rather loudly and raced after them. "Hey! Wait for me!"

Layton kept his eyes on Clive's back as the walked down the street. "You say you chose my house as the last delivery today," he repeated for good measure. "Why?"

Clive's expression was unreadable from where he stood, but Layton could hear the sheepish smile in his voice. "Because I knew you would make that deduction as soon as you saw me."

"And it is the correct assumption, yes?"

Clive nodded his head as they turned the next corner, the same corner on which they'd bumped into one another the day before.

Layton was tempted to cross his arms as he came up to Clive's left side, walking at the same pace now with Luke tagging along behind almost unnoticed. "I don't see how that would be a bad thing, unless of course you have something to hide."

Clive's expression turned dark. "I promise you, Professor, I have nothing to do with this," he insisted, looking at the man beside him seriously.

"I never said you did, my boy," Layton went on, proceeding to read the newspaper in his hands. Luke peeked through the gap between the two taller males and gasped for the third time that morning. "An orphanage on fire? Oh my gosh!" the boy exclaimed, leaning in to get a better look. "Clive, you were there?"

Clive's expression softened. "Yeah."

As they crossed the street, Layton asked a question of his own. "What did you see?"

Clive snorted, though it wasn't meant for the professor. "I didn't _see_ anythin'," he corrected, arms going limp by his sides. "The newsprint place is just across the street from the orphanage. I heard screaming, and I smelled fire, so I ran outside early this mornin' to see what was wrong. The whole building was on fire. It was...it was horrible. There was a little girl, just inside the place, crying and pleadin' for help. I couldn't just sit there and watch her die, so I ran inside and dragged her out before the fire completely engulfed the place." His fists balled up beside him. "Then the Yard got there and started questionin' me and the few other people that had gathered around it. They kept me there for hours."

Luke looked at Clive's back with wide eyes. "That's terrible," he mumbled, not sure of what else to say.

Layton handed the paper back to Luke to put in his bag, but the boy merely ban to read the article for himself. "What kind of motivation would Don Paolo have for burning an orphanage?" the man wondered aloud, unable to come up with much more than vague shots in the dark.

Clive grunted. "I don't know, but he needs t'go to hell. So many innocent people..." He shook his head. "I was raised at that orphanage when my parents died. I can't believe that it's...gone."

Luke didn't look up from the paper he read. "It was burned that badly?"

Clive suddenly slowed, having turned around one last corner. "See for yourself."

So Luke looked up, and gasped yet again. The once impressive building had been reduced to little more than a huge pile of rubble with only the bare skeleton of the structure remaining intact and clearly visible (though it was charred). It looked like as dreary of a scene as the Allen household's ruins had, though it was made worse by the little playground lying just beside where the building once stood, some of the wooden equipment visibly burned. There were quite a few officers of the Yard still at the scene, including two very familiar inspectors.

"Dropstone Orphanage," Layton half asked, half stated, expression carefully calculated.

"The one and only," Clive affirmed, pocketing his hands. "I hope you don't mind my tagging along, Professor, but I'd like to see if they've figured anything out yet."

"But of course," Layton consented, and the trio headed closer. There were a few people loitering a good ways away from the site itself, murmuring and lamenting the tragedy.

The closer they got, the more profound the smell became. Luke put a hand over his lower face, expression almost horrified. "Professor," he began, looking up at his mentor hesitantly. "Is this...the smell of b-burnt flesh?"

Layton's nose was ever so slightly wrinkled as well. "Yes, Luke." A pause. "You can stay back there if you need to."

The shortest of the three shook his head with a determined kind of look. "It's alright...I'm fine."

Before the could get too close to the wreckage, however, they were intercepted by who else but Inspectors Chelmey and Grosky, neither looking too pleased with the current state of events. Barton waddled up behind them, ever the righthand man.

Grosky was the first to speak. "Good morning, gents. Rather, hello. It hasn't been much of a good morning."

Chelmey wasn't so nice, however, jumping to the point. "Layton? Fancy seeing you 'ere." His tone was sarcastic enough. "And what about you, Dove? What're you doing back 'ere?"

Clive looked at him with an indifferent stare. "I was just wondering if you lot had made any shocking new discoveries," he replied flatly.

Chelmey gave him a rather menacing look before turning his attention back to Layton. "Well, for your information, we 'aven't." He sighed heavily. "It's a bloody miracle if you can find anything at all after these damn fires!" He faltered when he realized Luke was standing right behind Layton and coughed. "Er, sorry. The subordinates 'ave been looking around for hours. And it doesn't 'elp that we don't 'ave but one survivor, that survivor bein' a small child that won't stop her cryin'."

"We know it was Don Paolo again, right?" Luke asked, looking at Grosky.

Grosky rubbed the back of his neck, which usually wasn't too good of a sign. "Well, like Chelmey said, the only survivor or firsthand witness is that little girl. Though it's most likely the case, we still aren't completely sure."

Luke _oh_'d and Layton _hmm_'d. "Inspector," the latter began after a sufficient pause, "do you think it would be alright if I took a quick peek around?"

Chelmey regarded him with a look of resignation. "If you feel like you need to. But all you're going to find is ashes and bodies."

Layton tipped his hat in wordless thanks, and they began to close in on the place, but when Luke tried to follow them, Grosky put a halting hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should sit this one out, lad," he suggested as gently as he could, voice still gruff regardless.

Luke tried to wriggle out of his hold. "Don't worry about me, Inspector Grosky, I'm fine," he insisted even as Grosky refused to let him go. "I can handle it!"

Layton paused and turned to face his young friend. "Listen to him, Luke," he spoke with authority, unwilling to budge on such a matter.

Luke pouted, but ceased struggling. "But Professor..."

Said man smiled. "Perhaps you could aid Inspector Grosky here in conversing with that little girl?" he suggested, knowing that Luke wouldn't be able to resist doing something that might potentially help the case somehow.

Luke's expression turned from put out to thoughtful. "Well, I suppose I could try," he adjusted his blue cap and turned toward Grosky, who sent Layton a silent look of thanks. Layton smiled in return and resumed his trek to the heart of the fire.

As they walked, the professor exhaled a bit more forcefully than normal. "Terribly sorry about all this, Clive," he offered to the young man next to him, who was uncharacteristically quiet. "It must be hard, losing your childhood home like this."

Clive merely chuckled. "Thank you, Professor. It is, in a way...but you shouldn't be saying sorry. It wasn't your fault."

Layton cracked a smile, folding his arms over one another. "One doesn't have to have committed the wrong to offer their condolences," he pointed out expertly, returning his gaze to the front.

Clive chuckled again. "Guess you're right," he admitted soundly.

Getting so close wasn't exactly one of the best courses of action. Chelmey had not been exaggerating when he'd described what they'd find; upon closer inspection all one could see was ash and bodies laying under said ash, along with the battered remains of furniture and the like. The smell so close was overwhelming; both paperboy and esteemed gentleman held hat and cloth respectively to their faces, trying to filter out the desolate stench. The two stared at the rubble in awestruck fascination despite themselves, amazed at such destruction. The whole thing was very reminiscent of a horror/mystery novel.

A path into the once-building had been cleared enough to allow relatively easy entry. Taking this path, the professor let his practiced eyes scan the area, taking in as much as he could, trying desperately to find something, anything that might help them find the perpetrator of this dastardly deed. This haphazard destruction could not go on.

He stopped suddenly when his foot came into contact with something abruptly, sending it skidding across the ground to hit a beam on the opposite side of the room rather loudly. Clive bumped into him gently, mumbling a small sorry to him as they both looked at the item curiously. It was a little ceramic figurine, a doll of sorts that had somehow managed to survive the fire well enough to be okay. Layton's eyes widened in realization. Innocent children were dead, murdered, burned alive, presumably on purpose. The though hit him hard, penetrating his usually distanced perspective and causing his train of logical thought to falter, if only for a moment. _This is...__completely and utterly __unforgivable._

He felt Clive take a sudden step back behind him. "Professor, I h-have to go," he said, his voice shaky, as if he'd just had the same epiphany. "It's too much."

Layton readjusted his hat. "Of course," he turned to face him, also ready to take his leave. The smell was beginning to make him sick even through his small brown handkerchief.

"So many kids..." Clive thought aloud, face contorted in remorse as they meandered back the way they'd come. Layton understood his feeling all too well.

"This is too big of a fatality to be merely accidental," the professor responded indirectly, unsure of how exactly to comfort his accompaniment.

As they were making their way back to where the inspectors stood, however, they saw a blue-clad boy running toward them despite Grosky's insistence on staying. Before Layton could begin to reprimand him, however, Luke stopped, breathing hard and eyes wide in alarm.

"Professor! The girl! She knows! She _saw_ Don Paolo!"

—**e—n—d—c—h—a—p—t—e—r—**

_**A/N: And she finally updates! It's okay though, because no one was really looking forward to it anyway. I apologize anyway. I kinda lost the Layton spirit, but my recent PL4 (Last Specter) playthrough has reignited the flame, baby!**_

Kind of a lame cliffhanger. Nweheheh. I hinted to a future cameo somewhere in here. Can you see where and guess who? xD it's extremely vague though.  
_**  
That's about it. Leave a review telling me whatcha liked, didn't like, things I can improve on, etc. etc. They really do help me lots!**_

See yah later~ C:


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